‘What do you mean?’ Lottie reached out and grabbed Carol’s hand as the truth dawned on her. ‘It is someone you know.’
‘I didn’t say that. Stop putting words in my mouth.’
‘I’m sorry. I have to advise you to do the right thing.’
‘I’m telling no one. End of. You can go now, before my parents get home.’
Thinking over the girl’s words, Lottie said, ‘Have you been threatened? By this man?’
Another sniff and a shake of her head.
‘Is he married?’
A shrug of shoulders. ‘I’m not saying.’
‘Are you still in a relationship with him?’
‘He thinks so.’
‘Does he know you’re pregnant?’
‘No.’ Her eyes, the pupils deep black, glared with terror. ‘Don’t say a word about any of this. Please. I’m begging you.’
Lottie sighed. ‘I’m so sorry this happened to you, Carol, but people will notice you’re pregnant eventually.’
‘I’m not ready to tell anyone else. The only two people who knew about the rape are … are …’ She pulled her legs beneath her and lay in a foetal position on the couch, weeping.
‘Give me your brother’s number. I’ll get him to come back and sit with you.’
‘No!’ Carol let out a strangled cry. ‘Just go. Please. Leave me alone.’
‘I’ll have to make a report on this, you know that.’ Lottie felt sorry for the girl, but she knew she had to do her job too. ‘When you’re ready, come to the station. There will be trained people available to talk to you. In the meantime, I’ll get a liaison officer to stay with you.’
‘No fucking way.’
‘It’s for your own safety. Now give me Terry’s number.’
Seventy-Nine
Anna Byrne opened the door and led them inside.
‘We’re sorry to intrude, but we need to ask a few questions.’ Lottie remained standing with Boyd while Anna slumped down on a chair. Her grief was palpable.
‘Ask away.’
‘Did Elizabeth ever talk about a Mollie Hunter?’
‘No, I don’t recall that name. She only ever said she was going out to meet Carol O’Grady.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I can’t be sure about anything these days.’
‘What about Matt Mullin? We have reason to believe he hasn’t been in Munich since Christmas. Did he make any contact with Elizabeth?’
Anna stood. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ She was wearing the same clothes as the other day and looked like she had cried non-stop since then.
‘We haven’t time for tea. Talk to me, please, Anna.’
‘I’ve heard nothing from Matt.’ Anna sat back down. ‘I don’t know if he’d been in contact with Elizabeth. Did you find her phone?’
‘There’s no trace of it.’ Lottie sat down beside the distraught mother. ‘I know you’ve no time for Carol, but is there anything we need to be aware of?’
‘Like what?’
‘Something she may have got Elizabeth involved in?’
‘That tramp. Is it her fault my girl is dead?’
‘I’m not saying that at all.’ Lottie tilted her head to one side, directing Boyd to work his charm.
‘Mrs Byrne,’ he said, ‘Anna. We’re finding very little to lead us to Elizabeth’s killer. We think Carol might be a link. A tenuous one, but a link nonetheless. Can you think of anything that was out of the ordinary?’
‘Everything was out of the ordinary with that one.’
‘Please,’ Lottie pleaded.
Anna folded her arms, pulling at the sleeve of her cardigan with her fingers, nails bitten to the quick.
‘She was never round here, if that’s what you mean. But Elizabeth was always calling round to her. More so in recent weeks. Since Christmas. I’ve no idea what it was about. Elizabeth never said, but I suspect it was to do with a man. You know what young people are like at that age.’
‘I do,’ Lottie said.
‘Maybe Matt was back in town or something. I don’t know.’
‘Can we look through Elizabeth’s things again? If you don’t mind.’
‘Your forensic guys have been all over them, but go ahead. Don’t take anything without telling me first, though.’
Lottie was glad to escape the sorrow permeating the kitchen walls. Elizabeth’s bedroom looked the same as they’d left it.
‘What are you hoping to find?’ Boyd asked.
‘Something to indicate Matt Mullin was in contact with her.’
‘But we didn’t find anything first time, and neither did SOCOs.’
‘We didn’t know what we were looking for then.’
‘We don’t know what we’re …’ Boyd began. Lottie threw him a warning look. He continued, ‘I suppose I’ll know it when I see it.’
He brushed by her, and her skin tingled with the touch of his hand as he passed. The slightest connection, but she felt it. Her chest constricted with anxiety. A pill would help, but there was no way she could sneak one. She willed concentration into her brain. Clues to the fate of Mollie Hunter might be somewhere in this room. They had to be thorough.
‘Was there anything in her notebook to give us a hint?’ she asked.
‘Not unless she was writing in some sort of code.’
After searching the room carefully, Lottie ran her hand through the necklaces hanging on the plastic stand on the dresser. She paused, her fingers snagged in a silver chain.
‘Boyd, look at this.’ She held up the chain with a ring attached. ‘Was this here all the time?’
‘Must have been. Ask Anna.’
‘Ask me what?’ Anna stood at the doorway, clenching and unclenching her fists. Lottie didn’t know if it was from anger or a gesture of helplessness.
‘Is this Elizabeth’s?’ She held up the chain and ring, anticipation prickling her skin.
‘I’ve never seen it before.’ Anna took a step into the room. ‘Are you finished here?’
With a glance at Boyd, Lottie nodded. ‘I need to take this.’
‘I don’t think it belonged to Elizabeth, so you can have it.’
Sliding the jewellery into an evidence bag, Lottie smiled sadly and left the room.
Eighty
The day, if it was still the same day, seemed interminable. Boredom had replaced fear. And the bones, the baby bones, mocked her, lying there on the table as if they expected her to do something.
But what could she do? She was locked up. She had no means of escape. She still had no idea why he’d taken her. But she was sure she had been his target. Not opportune. No. He had sought her out and snatched her. Why?
She’d studied the paintings on the wall, trying to find a clue to who had painted them. To the person who had previously inhabited this prison. Or were the paintings a message? Maybe that was it. Kneeling on the end of the bed, she looked at them, really looked at them. And that was when she saw it. Painted in the tiniest of black letters, along the body of a crooked steam engine, it was there. Hidden in plain sight.
A name.
But it meant absolutely nothing to her.
* * *
At the office, Boyd plonked two mugs of coffee on Lottie’s desk, having first put down coasters.
‘Where did you get those?’ She opened her eyes wide with amazement.
‘The mats? My drawer. You never told me what Queenie said.’
‘That feels like two days ago.’ She tapped her computer keyboard. ‘Wait until I log in here. I want to find a picture of Paddy McWard.’
‘Why?’
‘To see if he wears any rings.’
She clattered at the keyboard.
‘I know we found a ring attached to a chain at Elizabeth’s house and a ring in the unidentified female from the lake, but what has McWard got to do with it?’
‘Boyd, drink your coffee and shut up for a minute. I’m trying to get my head back in gear.’ She brought up a set of photographs and zoomed in on one.
‘Is that a recent picture?’ Boyd asked.
‘It’s a few years old. When he was arrested for car theft … There. See his hands?’ She turned the screen so that he could see what she was looking at.
‘No rings.’
‘Right.’
‘Right what?
‘Most of the traveller community wear jewellery. Thick gold chains, rings and all that shite. But he has no rings.’
‘And that proves what?’
‘Hold on a minute.’ She zoomed the cursor up McWard’s arm. ‘Jesus, Boyd. Look at that tattoo.’
He stretched across the desk, squinting. ‘It’s a Celtic cross.’
‘Up further. Just below the hem of his sleeve. It’s a Claddagh.’